Regardless of your personal state of ability, infirmity, race, religion or socio-economic position, there is probably an issue or group in your universe for which you advocate. You may feel that you are an authority on your own cause, but somewhat less so on other, similar causes. Perhaps you are passionate in your support of lung cancer research, because a family member lost his or her own battle. Yet, you may know little about the needs of the children’s cancer charities.
In the field of disability awareness, I tend to focus my efforts on the particular needs of the visually impaired or blind community, simply because I have personal experience with the issues relevant to those groups. While I advocate for all disability groups, I am aware that each has it’s own specific needs, pet peeves, barriers to overcome, stereotypes to battle and goals to attain. I admit that I am not intimately acquainted with the needs of every disability group. However, I had a very interesting experience recently that has opened my eyes to some of the feelings at least, which may be at the core of a group other than my own.
A while ago I did some traveling that required I use multiple forms of transport, which is typical for someone who does not drive. I traveled through several states, and it was quite the combination of planes, trains and ground transport to get it done. At one point, I found myself in the Las Vegas airport, confronted by an airport employee who was to assist me through security to my flight gate.
For those of you who do not travel, or who have never thought about how a person with a disability might accomplish this, let me take a moment here to provide a bit of explanation. As a seasoned traveler, I have seen many changes in the policies and procedures of public transportation agencies. None so many, however, as those which took place after September 11th, 2001. Air travel was especially chaotic in the "old days" given that anyone was free to move about the airport, and now no one who is not holding a ticket or a boarding pass is allowed past security. Airports used to be terrifying places for me, since airport crime was rampant back then. .
It is nothing like that now. Today, The TSA and airline employees operate with precision. As a result, when I make my flight reservation, I make what is referred to as a "special services request." This sets into motion a series of hand-offs that gets me from the passenger unloading zone to my seat in the aircraft. Usually, it works like a well-oiled machine. Once I hit the ticket counter and check my bag, I am handed off to a "PSA" or personal services associate. These are airline employees who roam about the premises and assist passengers who need help. It was my experience with one of these PSA’s that I write about here.
My fierce independence was challenged when the PSA who was to guide me through security insisted that I sit in the wheelchair he offered. I did not want to use the wheelchair, resorting instead to my standard line: “My eyeballs are broken, but my legs work fine. I can walk.”
The PSA would not take no for an answer. He continued to insist that I use the chair. Someone standing nearby said, "I sure wouldn’t turn down a ride. Why not take it? The terminal is like a MILE from here." Well, for one thing, I didn’t need it. I’m perfectly capable of walking to the gate. It seemed like such a waste to me, and I felt a little threatened by this situation. Despite my vociferous objections, I was pressured into using the wheelchair, and I finally relented. I cringed as I sat down in the chair. The predominant emotion I experienced right then was one of anxiety. The PSA began to roll me to the security checkpoint.
It took me about two seconds to recover from the novelty of moving while sitting down, after which I immediately began to feel very uncomfortable. I felt like I was being deceptive somehow, keeping a secret that I was passing myself off as paraplegic or something when in fact I could leap out of the chair in a split second and walk away.
The anxiety I was feeling grew to embarrassment, then humiliation. On the one hand, I felt like a liar, on the other, I felt as though I was somehow less, or would be perceived as something less than whole. My discomfort likely stemmed from the knowledge that I had already traveled thousands of miles, mostly unassisted, and that the notion that I could be perceived as incapable of walking unnerved me.
When the employee at the airport security gate informed me that I would be lifted from the chair and examined, I immediately flew out of the chair. "Like hell," I said, and held out my hands. "You can just guide me through the metal detector."
After reassembling my belongings and myself, I sank back into the wheelchair. Now, I really felt awkward. It was clear to anyone watching that I didn’t need to be in the wheelchair, and I wondered what others were thinking as I was rolled away.
As a person who has a visual disability, who is also a long-time professional speaker and educator, one of the ways I “sell” my message of independence and self-sufficiency is to set the example. I am living the experiences about which I speak, and I would be neither believable nor authoritative if I did not live the full life I teach others it is possible to live. Whenever possible, I use mainstream situations as a platform from which to raise awareness. While I concede that you wouldn’t want me as your surgeon, I’ll probably never pilot a jetliner and the military won’t have me, generally speaking I can do just about everything a non-disabled person can do, I just do it differently.
When I teach my awareness classes, I utilize a teaching technique sometimes referred to as a "simulation exercise." There is a great deal of controversy over using disability simulations as a teaching tool. Students are placed in a blindfold to simulate blindness, required to sit in wheelchairs and navigate around everyday objects, or use earplugs or other means by which to simulate various impairments. The controversy lies in the thinking that these exercises create a "circus atmosphere" and can make a mockery out of disability. In general, I agree with this sentiment, although in my classes, the exercise is proceeded by six hours of instruction, followed by a dialogue about the students’ experiences, and concluded by the following admonishment: There is no way that a thirty minute simulation exercise can truly begin to open your eyes as to life with a disability. I tell the students that they could wear the blindfold all day and still have no idea what it’s like to be blind. The purpose of the exercise is to start the discussion, not arrive at a conclusion, and to explore some of the emotions involved, as well as to experience ways in which everyday activities can be made harder when living with a disability. If the students express discomfort with the simulation, I tell them that their discomfort is part of the exercise. I inform them that "I seldom have the luxury of picking and choosing whom I solicit for help, and in this case, neither did you."
In the case of my brief stint in a wheelchair, I can say the same thing. While I have understood the physical barriers presented by the use of a wheelchair, I’ve not personally experienced the emotions, which may be involved — especially early on. I found my chaotic emotions to be worthy of further exploration, and I was gratified by the opportunity to roll a mile in another’s shoes.
Have you ever experienced something similar? If so, comment below and share your own thoughts.
LL